vocational quandary
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: H'aanit's never thought of thievery having any ounce of nobility. As she witnesses Therion's tale unfolding, she has a change of heart. – Based on H'aanit telling Therion that she can set aside judgment of character based on vocation. [Character study / H'aanit/Therion]


a/n; hey hi thanks for stopping by. this is highly inspired by H'aanit and Therion's travel banter – more specifically the one where H'aanit said she could set aside personal prejudice when being his comrade. and also about the "nobility" or lack thereof, of a thief. i always thought they either had thoughtful discussions or a hint of playfulness/flirtation. H'aanit always seemed so fascinated by him, amirite? or, more likely, i read into them way too much, magnified nothing into something, decided i loved them being together, and have not looked back. yay.

okay, happy reading. thoughts, comments, ideas, love, hate are all welcome.

vocational quandary – ;

* * *

H'aanit has always been a watcher. A consequence of her profession, perhaps, but she can't remember a day when she didn't observe or immerse her stares into different individuals or animals.

A lot of people, she has experienced, don't notice. The ones who do tend to shy away from her. A few men have taken her stares as an invitation, to which H'aanit had to verbalize their mistake and to who most did not take well or with grace, as H'aanit thought would have been the norm. _Men._

It goes without saying that H'aanit had the tendency to watch all of her comrades—mostly at the beginning of their journeys. She observed and pondered, inquired with light investigation, letting each traveler form their characters in front of her eyes. Before she knew it, everyone began to settle into roles, allowing words to spill more freely. Some wore their minds and hearts on their sleeves. Alfyn, Tressa, and Olberic, surprisingly, fit into the category. Olberic took a little longer, though his intentions were very forthright. For Cyrus, all one had to do was ask a single question and you'd almost receive too much information.

Some never revealed their intentions at all until further along. Primrose was one. Therion was another.

Primrose had an easy time listening and conversing with others about their problems and inner conflicts. Conversely, she had a hard time talking about her own.

Therion was a dark horse. He was aloof and apathetic most times, and he never seemed to care one way or another about the turmoil of others. He would surprise H'aanit from time to time by giving general advice, as he once told Primrose to tread carefully and smartly when in the Obsidian's den, and not to be overcome with her emotion. Or, even, when he told Alfyn he'd buy him a round of drinks after Alfyn began to brood over Ogen—not because Therion cared, but because Therion had a hankering, and he might as well buy two.

He had started as an enigma to H'aanit, and he still maintains the title. Even when getting to know him, she feels as though she hardly knows him at all. She's fascinated when she watches him steal, with his fingers nimble and sure, no doubt or lack of confidence making them shake or stumble. His words are smooth and viper-like, with no tremor or shadow of hesitation. It's too easy to believe the words he says, too easy to ride the wave of his confidence and to follow him if one so chose.

When he asks for information in a tavern, people seem just fine with answering him. If there's a slightest bit of hesitation, Therion glosses over it with a round or two of drinks, and everyone is suddenly too happy to answer his inquiries.

When first journeying with Therion, H'aanit fell into stereotyping. She hadn't realized she was keeping her distance, checking her satchel too occasionally, and observing him more than the rest. They would catch eyes, at times, while she was watching him. It would be impossible to tell what he was thinking, his eyes always impassive, and his mouth always hidden behind his cowl.

She would see him eyeing his fool's bangle from time to time, which she found quite peculiar. Most days he'd ignore it completely, acting like it wasn't there to begin with.

She'd watch him in the taverns, dipping his fingers into pockets, sometimes conversing, sometimes not. It surprised her how simple it was for him to strike up conversation with a stranger, have them laughing, mimicking interests, manipulating them to be completely vulnerable before taking a valuable or invaluable piece from them.

He'd catch her eye in the taverns, sometimes, too. By then, he'd give her a smirk, with his cowl below his chin—and she would wonder if he was silently mocking her in that way of his— _good job, H'aanit, you've caught the thief thieving._ Or if he was proud of her for noticing that he stole anything at all, because he _was_ good. It's not easy to notice anything amiss with his conversations, so keen are most to look at the faces instead of the hands.

And yet, by this time, H'aanit has never noticed anything astray in her satchel, or complaints from the other comrades about misplaced items. She's ashamed of herself for feeling a level of surprise. She told him, once, that she could put personal prejudices aside. It didn't matter what she thought of his profession. She knows enough of him now to know he's clever, smart, and self-preserving. He wouldn't steal from his comrades. Perhaps because he knows enough about them, too. He has decided to stay with them, when he so simply could have left.

He approaches her after she catches him in one of his bouts of mischief in a tavern, and he sits down across from her. A waitress brings him a mug of his usual—some kind of mead and barley brewed thing—and, as if he is reading her mind, he says, "I thought you said you could put personal prejudices aside, H'aanit."

She blinks, trying not to let her face warm. "I did, and I am."

"I don't think you realize what a poker face is," he says.

"I…doe not," she admits. "Is that the face thou usen most often? The face with no expression?"

He downs his glass, and he smirks at her again. _Tis an odd amount of times he has shown me something akin to a smile._

"That's the one," he says. "Whenever you look at me, you're always frowning."

That's news to her. "Oh?"

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter to me how you feel, H'aanit, but it is easy to read you."

She is silent for a moment, before shaking her head. "I am not frowning because I disapprove, Therion. I am…" She pauses, feeling, like the man Therion stole from, vulnerable. Silly. She can almost feel his hand in her pocket, but trust… he's had her trust for a while, now.

"I am trying to understanden thou," she says carefully. "Thou aren not the easiest to read. Thou taken many shapes and forms. Thou aren silent and mysterious and clever. Thou aren, at times, kind. Thou do not indulge in thine own secrets. Thou do not admit to weaknesses. I knowe these things about thou, and yet I can hardly sayest I knowe you. Tis why I watchen thou so closely."

It's his turn for silence, and H'aanit is not surprised. She merely waits for him to speak.

Therion spins the mug with one hand, waiting until a waitress passes to hand it off to her. Then, he stands up and says, "I might hazard to say you know me a little too well, H'aanit." He walks away from her, heading to the door of the tavern and out to somewhere else in the town.

H'aanit doesn't understand his words at all.

In Marsalim, as the hunt for Redeye comes to its peak, soldiers and townspeople alike begin readying for the battle and its possible consequences. For H'aanit, the driving factor is as prominent and unshakable as ever. She has all of her weapons. She even has her comrades. She will save Z'aanta. She will not fail.

The evening before they set out to the ruins which Redeye was waiting, H'aanit does not fall asleep immediately, like she always does. Uncharacteristically, her mind floats over the conversations she's had with her comrades—friends. Olberic, and his validation that the king ruling the land was fair and good. Ophilia, teaching her a simple prayer. Cyrus, giving her a lesson about times of old, as usual. Alfyn, being optimistic and encouraging. Tressa…complaining and youthful. Primrose offering to travel together when this is done. H'aanit smiles at the thought of all of them.

And Therion…making her wonder, yet again, where her thoughts truly lie when considering him. Her smile fades.

"Betrayest not the trust of others, eh?" he had quoted her, sitting across from her in the Marsalim tavern.

She explained her meaning. "First and foremost, I hunte Redeye to saven my master from his fate. But I also will helpen the people of this land. I cannot afford to fail. My quarry must be slain. My honor as a hunter demandeth it."

Therion had nodded slightly, eyes giving her a knowing, and strangely understanding, look. "When I set my sights on my quarry, I'm as dogged as you. Different sort of quarry, though."

She paused for a moment. "Thou speakest of thievery."

The tone of her voice must have betrayed her, no matter how calmly she uttered the words. She hadn't realized until Therion gave her that smirk again, that look of seeing right through her and into her core.

He took a pull from his drink. "Heh. Doesn't sit right with you, eh? To think we're more alike than different."

In the moment, his words hit her with an idea she had never thought to consider before. What's more, it hit her with its accuracy. He was right—they were alike. They were all alike. Down to the bare bones of it, he has stayed his course in his journey. He chose to face his past and his predicament. He has used his profession for a cause, no matter how self-serving it seemed to be from the outside looking in.

And, in the moment, she could not seem to put together words intricate enough to agree with him. Instead, she said, "If thou choosest to taken pride in thy work, I shalle not tellen thee that thou are wrong."

His eyebrows rose. " _Choose_ to take pride? That's an interesting way to put it."

The words rebuffed her. She felt incensed by them, though there was no reason for it. "Thou canst be proud of thy deed, or not. The choice is thine."

He continued to stare at her for a moment, as if puzzling her out. "Now, there's something no one can steal…" he finally said.

"What's that?"

"Another's pride."

The air settled with a type of finality. It was almost as if he was challenging her to try to do what he deemed no one could—steal his pride. Perhaps he, too, still felt the prejudice she had against his vocation, no matter the words she had said to him before, and no matter how hard she had been pursuing the actions to show him.

Lying in her cot, H'aanit frowns deeply. Before the conversation, she felt a kinship with him. A budding reliance, a valuable bond, organically grown from every experience sustained together from caverns to dungeons to battles with fiends. Now, it feels as if something has begun to unravel at the edges, something too delicate to fix with mere words.

Betrayest not the trust of others. She has always taken pride in that ideal, has always thought she held that action above all else. Yet, Therion has again challenged her understanding. Deep down, has she ever truly trusted him? Has she been unable to separate the man from his livelihood? Or has she been unable to intertwine the two—to see how a man and his vocation create who he chooses to be? Regardless, she has betrayed both him and herself. Him, in that she carries a wariness within her. Her, in that she has not honored her own words.

She does not like what he makes her feel.

"Thou weren wrong," she tells him the next day, as they make their way to the ruins and to Redeye.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "How so?"

"Thou canst steale another man's pride, if that man ben weak enough to letten thou." She glances away from him into the golden sands. "I aske that thou may forgiven me, Therion. I have betrayed thou with false words and honor, with a prejudice I thought I was stronge enough to overcomen. It is my hope thou may find truth within my actions, and realize my trust in thee."

He shakes his head. "H'aanit, it isn't easy to trust a thief. I would know," he says, and he gives her a smirk. "I make it a point to trust myself, because I might be the only one who can. It doesn't—" He makes a brief pause, as though the words he finds aren't the ones he wants. He does not tend to make that mistake, and H'aanit notices. "It doesn't matter if you trust me or not, so don't waste your time."

When H'aanit says nothing, he says, "You're about to go fight a big, bad monster and save countless lives. Focus on that."

Still uncertain on what to say, she watches Therion falls back toward the tail of the group, and H'aanit is left with not feeling any better about anything.

During the battle, she compartmentalizes. She's very good at putting away unwanted feelings—the ones that do not take precedence. She fights with single-minded determination, hardly stopping to breathe, calculating advances, anticipating attacks, and learning the steps of the fight.

It nears the end of the battle, when Redeye is furious and wounded, unleashing bestial roars and using its powerful evil eye left and right, trying to slow down their onslaught, and it begins to work. Tressa and Cyrus are unconscious, Olberic and Primrose are turned to stone, and Ophilia and Alfyn are attempting to keep both H'aanit and Therion healthy and protected while simultaneously administering Herb-de-grace, reviving Tressa and Cyrus, and avoiding the beast's terrible attacks.

"About dead, you think?" Therion pants.

"Yes. Very close," H'aanit answers.

Redeye swipes at them, and they evade the attack. The beast roars, his eyes gleaming, gleaming, and turning his gaze toward H'aanit.

"Good. Revive me after," Therion shouts. Before H'aanit can take his meaning, he runs and shoves her out of the way, and Redeye's gaze pierces him. His flesh turns into stone.

"Therion," she breathes, glancing at his frozen figure. She then turns her attention immediately back to the beast. She gives a shout, jumps, and deals the finishing strike to Redeye.

After the fanfare and rejoicing, H'aanit finds Therion later that evening.

"I have thanken all of you, but I muste thanke thee personally," she states, before she is immediately waved off.

"You really must do nothing," he says. "We all knew you were going to kill Redeye. Everyone was going to be revived in the end."

"Yes, but—" she begins. "You sacrificed—"

"We all sacrificed. It's no skin off my back." He shrugs and moves on to his room in the inn.

H'aanit feels beleaguered as she watches him go, but knows she shouldn't. Perhaps this is his way of showing forgiveness. Or a backhanded type of trust. Or, well, maybe this is just Therion, showing a peculiar type of companionship and loyalty. It makes her more determined than ever to understand all of him.

They begin Therion's last and most exciting chapter of his journey not long after. Apart from H'aanit and Primrose vocalizing their appreciation for his theater and apery ("You're comparing me to bugs and rocks?" he had asked when she tried to explain her fascination. He seemed more amused than offended, though), there is a subtle shift in him. He had not before shown a type of wavering in his purpose, though his full-proof apathy left much to be desired. When they conclude his story, things come into more focus. It starts to settle into understanding for H'aanit, because his aloof façade begins to crack. He starts to trust and admire Heathcote. He wants to help Lady Cordelia, instead of seeing her as a means to an end. Most importantly, he begins to believe in himself. H'aanit can see it as Therion starts showing the underlying nobility that is under the surface with these actions. She has felt the threads of it, has witnessed it in other companions' journeys. She has seen the freckles of it, like skin blooming underneath a summer sun. Now, however, she can feel it hit her like the ripples of high tide. It all begins to connect like a constellation.

Therion does not like attention, so when he leaves Princess Cordelia Ravus behind, it is rather abrupt and panicked. H'aanit has not witnessed this yet from him before, and she is left behind in her curiosity. The others have already begun to follow Therion, so when she goes to join them, Lady Cordelia halts her.

"Excuse me? H'aanit?" she says, her voice hesitant and sweet. She is so young, but H'aanit can see the maturity of her years ingrained along the lines of her eyes. She's a very beautiful woman, and H'aanit wonders if this is part of the reason Therion had to run away from her. Primrose told her something of the nature of men and their tendencies of this. Still, Therion did not seem the type.

"Yes?" she answers.

"May I ask you a favor?" Lady Cordelia says, clasping her hands in front of her. She bites her lip. "I've…well, I've already told Therion how grateful I am for what he had done. But can you also tell him that even if he doesn't think he is, he is one of the noblest men I know. Saying a thief is noble is a bit of a paradox, isn't it?" she laughs. "But he kept his word. He remained loyal. I'm sure you know that just as well as I."

The ripples hit her with a nulling force. Lady Cordelia has unknowingly validated H'aanit's beliefs. Now, suddenly, H'aanit sees all of Therion's character with clarity instead of question. The way he brushes things off like he doesn't care—which means he cares very much. The way he gives pragmatic advice without ever hinting that he is concerned. The way he steals, though it is never with intentional malice. The way he was once very wounded and standoffish, and now has come to trust and believe in each and every one of their group of travelers. Paradox is certainly the right word. She may never truly understand all of the things he chooses, but she can honestly say, without any hint of deceit or betrayal, that she believes in him, too.

She turns her head and can still see Therion's figure up the road. It looks as if he's stopped his mad dash.

H'aanit smiles. "Yes. I doe know."

"Tell him he is welcome here anytime, and we'd be happy to accommodate him if ever he needs it," Lady Cordelia says, and she smiles. Her beauty strikes H'aanit again, and she is almost sorry for it—and she thinks it before she realizes she thinks it. _How darest I thinken such a thing?_

She says the affirmative, bows, and begins to follow behind the troupe. She looks at each individual comrade, with the sun setting behind the rocky crags of the Clifflands, and is suddenly overcome. She turns her gaze to the trail in front of her, a frown forming on her face.

Their journey will soon come to an end. She has not dwelled on what this may mean, and how they will all depart from one another. She has never felt the percipience of an ending so acutely, nor so deeply. She lifts her gaze off the ground, and she glances to the back of Therion's head. Her observations will be no longer, and the thought of this, strangely enough, gives her a feeling of a heavy boulder along the spine of her shoulder blades. She has only now just come to appreciate the insights that he has given her. Life will not be the same without him—nor without any of the others.

"So," Therion begins when they reach the next tavern. He takes a seat beside her instead of in front of her, as is his usual placement, and she likes this better. "What did Lady Cordelia tell you earlier?"

H'aanit feels a heaviness in her stomach that she is very much unused to, much like the boulder on her back. She is still thinking about their eventual departure. "She wanted me to tell you that you aren the noblest man she has had the privilege to knowe. She also sayest you aren welcome to her property in Bolderfall at any time for accommodations."

He ponders this for a moment, looking at her. "Well, that is certainly kind of her. Was that all?"

H'aanit realizes that she still has not successfully perfected her skills in the elusive poker face. "She likens you very much."

Therion smirks. "Is that so?"

"Tis not hard to determine. She wears thine heart on her own sleeve," H'aanit says before catching the look on Therion's face. "Thou mocken me."

Therion shakes his head, though his smirk turns to a smile. H'aanit likes it when he is agreeable like this. It is much more fun when he isn't so antagonistic.

"A rock could have noticed that, H'aanit," he says. "But she is too…sweet. Too naïve. To be honest, I don't think she fully realizes what she's saying. A thief isn't noble. Trusting is one thing, but a lady of her ranking should be advised to never have anything to do with a person like me, no matter how "noble" she thinks them."

H'aanit frowns. "She is correct. Thou aren noble. Thou aren trustworthy and loyal, as well. Heathcote was once a thief, and he is nowe under her employ and a wonderful advisor. Who is to say thou wille never be worthy of her?"

"Tell me this, H'aanit. Would Z'aanta ever allow you to be with someone who couldn't hunt as well as you? Who couldn't run as fast or fight as passionately?"

H'aanit thinks of this. "True, I wouldst looke to Z'aanta for some level of approval, though my approval tis mine own. I doe not maken decisions based on others' opinions if it is a decision that wille affect thine alone." She thinks on it more. "Thou are correct in assuming that I wouldst not usually choosen a man who is not as strong as I. Though, if this man showen an upstanding character and was one of the best in his vocation, then I wouldst surely consideren him."

He smiles at her. He has been watching her for the duration of their conversation, and it is similar to how she watches him in every setting. She begins to feel warm underneath the animal fur of her collar, and she can nearly feel the heat he gives off, with how closely they are sitting. She likes her personal space—she is not one for touch or pats of affection—and yet this is different somehow. They aren't touching, but there is a hint of it, a possibility, and the weight in her stomach begins to turn into a knot.

Even as inexperienced as she is, she knows what this means. It seems odd to her that, as astute and strategic as she is about observing others, she has fully missed this change in herself.

"Duly noted, H'aanit," he says. "If I brought a huntress a dead boar, would that be considered wooing?"

H'aanit blinks as the words he said settle into her brain with their meaning. Her cheeks flush.

"What—I—I doe not—"

Therion laughs. "Don't hurt yourself. I'm kidding, but I have always wondered how you hunters court one another. I imagine it has something to do with showing off your skills."

H'aanit shakes her head, her cheeks still burning. "Well, there aren several traditional ways the Darkwood tribe dost perform courting rituals. I wille tryest to rememberen them and explainen them, as I haven not thought about them for quite a time…"

They talk throughout the evening, much longer than they have in all their time spent together in one sitting, as though they are filling the time before they will leave, before they will not have the luxury to do this whenever they would like.

Before H'aanit knows it, Therion steals a part of her without ever touching her satchel, without her ever knowing it was missing.

When she does know it, she is in S'warkii, contemplating on whether or not to bring up the topic to Z'aanta. That feels a bit embarrassing. She thinks on writing a letter to Primrose. Her expertise would be highly valued in this area, and it might be helpful to hear an experienced opinion.

In the end, she decides against it. She'll track down her missing piece on her own. She's a hunter, after all. And Therion is as purposeful in what he steals as she is in what she hunts.

 _Perhaps he'll have a dead boar waiting for me_ , she thinks, laughing as she leaves her home.

Or, perhaps, he'll finally show her his heart, fastened to his sleeve, just as the fool's bangle had been. Or, perhaps it will be shining under the nobility, and the loyalty, and the friendship.

She would prefer that to a dead boar any day.


End file.
